Dead Frontier/Issue 109
This is Issue #109 of Dead Frontier, titled Revive. ''This is the first issue of '''Volume 19. ' Issue 109 - Revive “Don’t lose sight of whoever you’re with, don’t use your gun unless you absolutely have to, and don’t go off alone. Make this quick, but don’t make it a waste of our time,” Adam says as one last reminder. His face is burdened with apprehension, but he manages to get rid of any traces of nervousness in his voice. He has his hand on the defunct automatic door in front of him, its surface covered in a layer of dust; he holds himself off on opening it, waiting instead for confirmation from the faces to his right: Mae, Dre, Lucy, Lienne, Duke, and Winston. They nod quickly, and without wasting anymore time, Adam pushes the door open. The store stretches far across the lot, encompassing a significant area. The big, white letters that made up the word WALMART at the top of the building have since fallen to the lot below, bits and pieces of metal scattered around. Bricks have fallen out of the foundation, and vines have intertwined wildly to create lush, green patterns on different sections of the outside walls. Inside, the scene is just as battered, only made more eerie by the lack of light. The broken windows with jagged pieces of glass lining the border provide sunlight for just a few feet. Once they’re completely camouflaged in darkness, the bright circles of their flashlights burst to life, bouncing around in front of them. They wouldn’t be doing this if they weren’t so desperate. From experience, they know big stores like this are too risky; they’re easy hideouts for infected, or people, but, because of their size, they’re also bound to bring in big rewards, if you’re thorough enough.The hunger alone was enough for them to unanimously decide to take the risk. Not to mention the need for medicine. Just last week Ivy came down with something, but it passed quickly with nothing more than the symptoms of a common cold. Hoping that they’ll be just as lucky next time isn’t practical in times like these. “Split up,” Adam whispers. They disperse to cover a wider area in as little time as possible. Adam, Dre, and Lienne go left; Mae, Lucy, Winston, and Duke scramble right. Broken shelves and glass litter the area in front of them, so they step over carefully, wincing as the debris crunches loudly under their feet. They beam their flashlights along any shelves that still stand upright; they’re taunted by the sight of dust and cobwebs. Dre, Lienne, and Adam have migrated to the electronics section of the store. Their light illuminates cracked and useless television screens. He fills a little silly thinking it, but Adam can’t help but wonder how amazing it would’ve been to own one of these flat screens. Back when you could actually use one. There’s a sudden tug on his pant leg, pulling him out of his daydream. Lienne and Dre halt when he does, frightened enough by his sudden stop that they don’t say a word. Adam looks down; he sees a hand sticking out under a pile of shelves and TVs that had tumbled to the ground sometime before. Moving his flashlight to the ground, he inspects the scene further. The body attached to the rotten arm is nearly completely covered by the wreckage. He can only make out a head, the bottom half of the face crushed by a big block of a television. No wonder they didn’t hear any groaning. Dre gives a quick stomp to its head, and they move on. The other side of the store holds a completely different set of items. Old fridges and freezers line the aisles, but they’ve been cleaned out long ago. Mae’s flashlight shines onto a large crate in the middle of one of the aisles. A cereal advertisement is plastered on it, but she focuses on the contents inside. She smiles and whispers Lucy over. They both revel in the sight inside: two jugs of powdered milk, three bottles of water--one nearly empty--and a box of cereal. They toss the cereal; its expiration date was months ago, so Lucy holds open her bag for Mae to stuff everything else in. Winston and Duke move on, toward a section that looks like it was once a bakery. Duke leans close to boxes that sit on display, but they’re all empty, or filled with stale, moldy baked goods. He’s moving on to the next display when he slips on some pool of liquid coating the floor. He lands on his back hard and Winston rushes over to him. “Shit, you okay?” Winston mutters. He helps Duke to his feet; the back of his hoodie coated in a gooey red substance that drips to the floor. Winston looks at it in disgust, until his eyes drift to the floor, where the streak of red snakes around behind a box. He follows it warily, behind the box with the word FRAGILE stamped on it in big red letters, and almost laughs at himself for expecting something, maybe a body, or an infected ready to reach out at him. Still, as a precaution, he takes another look around, but sees nothing. His focus turns to the box. “The hell is this…?” he mutters. He puts his hands on both sides and, instead of picking it up, slides it over a little. It’s lighter than he thought… There’s the sound of something whizzing past his head, then he feels something sharp collide with his ear. He grabs his left ear, already feeling the blood dripping down the side of his face. Duke’s eyes follow the object; an arrow sticks out of the wall directly behind Winston. “What the hell?” Winston mouths, but Duke shrugs. Then, Duke looks up, his eyes wide. “Holy shit, watch out!” Duke shouts. Winston’s eyes drift upward. The large shelf looming over him begins to lean forward. He jumps backward, landing directly on his backside, as the shelf slams onto the ground where he was just standing. His foot was nearly caught by it, but he’s unscathed. His breaths come out heavy as he stares at the shelf in disbelief. The sound of the falling shelf echoes throughout the store. Everyone freezes where they are. Mae is just swinging her bag back over her shoulders when she and Lucy hear a strange voice to their left appear out of the darkness: “You coulda rang the doorbell before you came in. It’s only common courtesy.” ---- Pen in hand, Cole looks at the calendar plastered on the wall in front of him. He marks an X on yesterday’s date, July the 28th. His final days at the hotel seem like a distant memory--although the last time he saw it was only two months ago. The last few days they've holed up in a house. It's nice, by apocalyptic standards. It holds four bedrooms--each with a mattress--, a large living room with couches that aren't too rundown, fortified windows, and two floors. The amount of infected roaming around the area isn't too terrible, either. Getting rid of them before they can build their numbers enough to be a threat is just a simple, daily chore. It's a nice luxury, being able to settle down, but that's not their goal: they want to keep moving, in hopes of finding somewhere that can act as a permanent home. They've taken a good number of stops like this over the past weeks, but still traveled far enough to reach Iowa, the next state over. Cole caps the pen and tosses it onto the nightstand to his right. He grabs the cane that lies against the wall; it's become a vital item in his everyday life. He'd be mostly immobile without it. Yet, he can't help but think he looks absolutely ridiculous. He dreads walking around with it, moving just barely faster than a disabled turtle. At least, that's what he compares himself to, much to the amusement of everyone else. He walks the few steps to the bed and plops down on top of it. He lets the cane drop to the ground worthlessly and leans forward with his hands covering his face. He's not sure what he is. But he's not happy, he knows that much. He hasn't gotten used to the daily hunger pains, the small, trivial arguments that pop up here and there from the growing tension, the empty supply run returns, the risks involved in just wanting to live. He can feel each day bogging him down little by little, a small chunk of his optimism disappearing each time he or someone else has to go without eating. Waking up in the morning brings dreaded thoughts about what this day will bring and if he can stand to trudge through another twenty-four hours. He hears a small tap on the door. He lifts his head as the door opens, and Ivy peeks inside. “Chloe told me to check on you,” she says almost apologetically. “She wanted to see if you were awake yet.” “I got up about ten minutes ago,” he says. “Oh. Well, we saved the rest of the food for you.” “Tell someone else they can have it.” She frowns, then pushes the door open so she can enter the room fully. “I can’t do that,” she says. “Chloe told me you’d say that so she told me to tell you…” She covers her mouth with her fist and clears her throat, and recites Chloe’s words verbatim: “‘It’s great you’re thinking of everyone else, but if you don’t eat today, she’s going to stuff that stupid--” She pauses for a second to choose her next word carefully. “--''freaking'' granola bar down your throat.’” Cole gives a short laugh. “I thought that was kinda mean,” Ivy adds. “But if it makes you feel any better, I think you should eat, too.” “That makes me feel a lot better, actually.” ---- Ivy sits cross-legged on the living room floor across from Cole. He unwraps what’s left of his daily meal: half of a granola bar that expired three months ago. He struggles to take a bite out of it; it’s stale, all the flavor gone. She laughs as he makes a disgusted face, which he over-exaggerated a little for her amusement. “You know what I do, so they don’t taste as bad?” Ivy says. “What?” he asks. “Think of your favorite food ever. I usually just think of candy or something but you can use whatever. Then you have to close your eyes, imagine it’s...a Snickers bar, take a bite, and...you can practically taste the chocolate.” “That does not work.” “You never tried it. Here, just think of anything. Any food you really liked.” “Okay, uh…” He takes a moment to think to himself. “What would taste really good right now...oh, a cheesesteak. I really want a cheesesteak. Oh, my God, I really want one.” Ivy smiles. “There you go. You’ve got your food, now try it.” “If I don’t taste my cheesesteak, it’s on you.” It’s so easy to imagine himself taking an oversized bite out of it, the grease soaked into the bread, pieces of meat falling out the sides and onto his plate. He’s so lost in his fantasy, he doesn’t realize he’s devoured every crumb of his granola bar. “I’m right. Again,” she says brightly. He shakes his head incredulously, the smallest of grins on his face, and he crumbles the wrapper in his hand before tossing it. “Cole?” She can tell he’s in a good mood for once; this is a better time than ever in her eyes to actually talk to him. “What’s up?” he says. “I know you’d probably wanna just think about cheesesteaks, but can I ask you something? Just don’t get mad at me, okay?” “Of course not. Go ahead.” She hesitates a few seconds before speeding through her words: “I think...I know we’re all really sad and stuff, and this’ll probably sound really selfish and dumb, but--but Lucy told me about how you use to write. Like, she told me you wanted to write for movies, and that you wrote her some stuff and it was really good. And it’s probably stupid to even care but...I’m just so bored here. Everyone’s always out on supply runs or all stressed, and I don’t really have anything to do. You probably don’t even feel like it but would you...show me how, I guess? Like, how you write stories and stuff like that. I’ve always wanted to do something like that. If you’d be okay with it.” She nervously plays with her fingers, looking up at him for a response. “Why would I ever get mad at you for asking that?” he asks. A genuine smile has since formed on his face, something that now feels so foreign to him. “I didn’t wanna bother you or anything,” she says. “No, I’m--I think that’s awesome. Really.” He darts his eyes around quickly, but sees no one else, so he leans in a little closer and speaks to her in a hushed tone. “I’ve actually been keeping this...this journal. I found it when we got here, and nobody knows about it. But I’ve written in it a little. I’ll let you read some, if you want, and I can teach you some stuff from it.” “Really? I’m not--it wouldn’t annoy you or anything, right?” she asks. “No. It’d give me something to do, too. And you’re a smart kid, so it should be fun. For both of us.” He’s almost knocked backward by the force of her hug, but it makes him laugh, too. She mutters a few thank you’s to him. “Can we start later?” she asks. “Sure.” ---- Mae and Lucy stand petrified. The voice is hoarse and raspy with heavy southern undertones, but still feminine. They can’t see exactly who it is, but they make out a short, scrawny figure before the person steps out of the shadows. A woman, with stringy brown hair and a few wrinkles here and there on her face. Her blue eyes take on a crazed look, detracting from all the other features that would otherwise make her pretty. Her body language is almost...friendly. Inviting. “You look like you saw the Devil!” she says with a cackle. “I don’t look that bad...do I?” Mae and Lucy glance at each other nervously. “Sorry if we...disturbed you,” Lucy finally says. “I heard some people millin’ around out here. I didn’t think nothin’ of it, ‘til I heard you knock my shelf over. I’m sorry about that, really. I thought I got rid of all my traps but...I guess a few slipped through my fingers. Wanted to make sure I didn’t get anybody killed.” “Traps…?” Mae asks. “I set ‘em up months and months ago. Gotta protect my home somehow.” The woman takes a good look at both their faces, then laughs wildly again. “I’m--you must think I’m crazy, I’m sorry. But you two--ya look harmless enough. I’m just not the best conversation starter.” “That’s...that’s great. But we’ll go, we were finishing up anyway,” Lucy says. “Let’s find everyone else,” she mumbles to Mae afterward. Just then, the pounding of footsteps fills the air around them; Mae takes note of how the woman suddenly tenses up, her face no longer as friendly as it was a minute ago. The woman turns briskly, and the footsteps come to a stop as she’s face to face with Dre, Adam, and Lienne. “Who the hell is this?” Adam asks. He has his hand planted firmly on his holster, looking the woman up and down. “And what was that sound?” Lienne asks. “We don’t know,” Mae says. “Seriously--she came out of nowhere.” “I’m Melinda Baker, actually. Call me Mindy,” the woman says. She can’t remove her stare from Adam’s. “I was just telling these lovely women here that you’re, technically, intruders in my home. But friendly visitors are the best visitors, and since you haven’t killed me yet, I have quite the opinion of you all.” They’re befallen with silence again, the entire situation too unpredictable--too weird--for them to make sense of it. “''Mindy'',” Adam says slowly. “We’re sorry if we bothered you at all; we’ve got two other guys back there that we’ve gotta get, then we’ll be outta here.” Mindy’s expression changes again, this time to nervousness. “That...might be a problem,” she says. “I think they might’ve messed with one of my traps. It’s--it’s either in aisle twelve or aisle fourteen. I forget, it’s been so long.” Adam beckons Mae and Lucy to go check, and they scurry off quickly. “I don’t want you people to think I wanted to hurt you--I didn’t. Those traps are from a long time ago, a long time. I’d never want to hurt any living soul that didn’t do me wrong first,” Mindy says. “Then why the hell are they set up in the first place?” Adam asks. Mindy hesitates, her mouth opening and closing once as words fail her. “This group of men, a little while after I decided to camp out here, I guess they thought this would be a good place to search. I hid at first, but I thought--I thought maybe they’d be willing to help me out some. Those ungodly fuckers--” She stops herself, then takes a deep breath. “Let’s just say that when they left, my dignity left with ‘em. I set the traps in case they came back. And they did, and each and every one of ‘em is dead now ‘cause of those traps. I disabled every one when the job was done. I thought I did, anyway. I haven’t had visitors in...the longest time so excuse me if I seem a little...off. I thought maybe being a little...cheerier than most would give me an advantage. Just looks like y’all think I’m crazy.” Adam, Dre, and Lienne all feel the smallest bit of sympathy for her. Her eyes have gotten misty, apparently from the recollection of the story. “I’m really sorry to hear that, Mindy,” Adam says sincerely. “But we’ve got to go.” The sound of footsteps reappear, this time less urgent, signaling the return of Mae and Lucy, hopefully with Duke and Winston both intact. They appear after turning from one of the aisles. Winston has his hand clutched to his ear, blood trickling down his cheek. He looks infuriated as he still tries to assess how bad the damage is. Briefed on the situation by Mae and Lucy, his eyes bore into the woman’s. She nearly killed him, probably fucked up his ear beyond repair. He holds his anger back from exploding. “What the hell are we still doing here? Are we still talking with this fucking psycho?” Winston spits out. “Please, don’t. Don’t call me that,” Mindy says shakily. “Don’t call you that? You serious? You tried to take my head off with that fucking arrow!” “That wasn’t meant for you!” Mindy looks around at the rest of them. “They know that. Please, I want you to know, I’m not a bad person. I know I’m not. I can do a lot, I’m capable.” There’s a sudden realization amongst them all about that she’s saying. “We’re struggling enough already,” Lienne tells her. “I don’t think we can afford someone else to take care of.” “You don’t understand,” she says, taking a step forward, which, conversely, causes Adam, Dre, and Lienne to step back. “I haven’t seen the faces of good people in so long. I haven’t seen the faces of anyone in so long. The only gun I have doesn’t have a single bullet in it, and the food in this God damn store ain’t gonna last me.” “Lady, no one gives a shit about any of that,” Winston says. “Is this really a fucking discussion right now? Let’s go.” “He’s right. We don’t have enough for ourselves,” Duke says. “Don’t need to add another person to the mix.” Adam sighs, then scratches his head. He looks to Duke, who shakes his head. “Mindy, we’re gonna leave,” Adam says. “We wish you the best, though.” Her pleading expression from before vanishes, replaced with a burning anger. “You gonna leave me? Like a fucking dog--a worthless dog?” she says in a near shout. The answer to her question will forever remain unanswered because the back of her head explodes in a mess of blood just as a gunshot rings out. Winston holds the gun, not an ounce of remorse evident in his face, and he looks down at Mindy’s collapsed body. “Jesus Christ, how hard was that?” he says. Adam rushes toward him; he’s the only one who moves as everyone else stands frozen still, and he grabs Winston harshly by the wrist. He pushes Winston’s arm down so the barrel of the gun is aimed toward the floor. “What the fuck was that?” Adam says, and he decides to snatch the gun away from Winston’s grasp. “Am I--am I really the only one that thought she was crazy? Really?” Winston says defensively. “You fucking people are acting like we were really gonna take her back. No wonder we’re all starving. You live in luxury for a year and now you don’t know how to survive out here. I’m not letting us fuck up anymore.” “And that was your decision to make?” Adam says. “Just shooting some lady in the head, you think that was smart? You wanna trap us in here as a herd comes through?” “I was trying to get us to hurry the hell up in the first place, so why don’t we go now so that doesn’t happen?” Adam glares at him and shakes his head. He grabs Winston by the shirt, balling it up with his fists. “Don’t ever do something like that again,” Adam warns before letting him go with a shove. “Come on, let’s go.” ---- Cole sits on his bed with a piece of paper in his hands, reading the first of what Ivy’s written for him. He feels bad for not being able to focus on it, but his mind has wandered to everyone else still on the run. He’d expected they be back by the time he woke up, but it’s already been hours after that. It wasn’t too far, was it? They had enough gas...right? He sets the paper aside for a second and rubs his eyes. It’s barely late afternoon, but he wants to sleep again. That is, until he’s perked up by the sound of an engine outside and car doors slamming shut. And, surprisingly, shouting. “Yeah, I’m calling you fucking crazy!” Dre says as he comes through the door. Winston, Adam, Lienne, Mae, Duke, and Lucy pile in after him. Jake and Tora watch silently from the couch, confused. “I didn’t want you guys considering it anymore than you already were,” Winston replies. “I could see it in every single one of your faces. Except maybe Duke. He’s the only one with any common sense.” “You didn’t have to murder her.” Dean peaks out of a room at the end of the hall, rubbing his eyes groggily. “Okay, what the hell’s going on?” he asks. Chloe appears from the hall soon after he does, the same confused look on her face. Cole watches from the doorway of his bedroom. “Winston shot some lady in the head,” Mae says. “And everyone’s throwing a hissy fit,” Winston adds. “With good reason,” Dre says. “Didn’t have to kill her like that, man.” Winston is near the tipping point, and it doesn’t seem like anything is going to stop his rage from boiling over. “Don’t blame me for being the only one here that knows what the hell I’m doing!” he yells. His face has turned a bright red. “We’re already starving, and I’m not taking that risk of another person. So fuck you, Dre--fuck all of you--if you think I’m the bad guy here.” He stomps the other way, giving Dean a rude push out of his way, and he disappears down the hall, the slam of a door trailing him. Category:Dead Frontier Category:Dead Frontier Issues Category:Issues Category:Walkerbait22's Stories